


Did We Miss The Morning?

by starswholisten



Series: Mor Prequel [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Epilogue to A Dreamer In A Court Of Nightmares, F/M, Mor Prequel Epilogue, NSFW, Rhys and Mor have a moment, Smut, Then Moriel happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: When the Inner Circle returns from Hybern, Mor has a truth to face.This fic is an epilogue to my multi-chapter ACOTAR prequel, A Dreamer In A Court Of Nightmares. However, it *can* be read as a stand-alone!





	

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here is the epilogue to my Mor Prequel!
> 
> If you have NOT read A Dreamer In A Court Of Nightmares, I HIGHLY SUGGEST you do so before reading this fic. There are many illusions to my own interpretations of Mor's backstory and references to conversations between characters that I wrote in that fic. 
> 
> However, it would not be altogether impossible to read this without reading it, it would just help you understand much more of the plot!
> 
> This fic is NSFW!

Mor had lived a full, mostly peaceful, and mostly happy five hundred years. She lived a life of freedom, she had adventures beyond anything she’d ever expected, and she had fulfilled so many of her wildest dreams. She had seen every Court of Prythian, from the snow-capped mountains of the Winter Court to the sparkling sunrises of the Dawn Court. She had been to every corner of the human realms below the Wall, and she had even traveled beyond to other Faerie realms. Mor had seen things, and done things, that most girls from the Hewn City didn’t even know to dream about.

And yet there was still something about home that no faraway land would ever manage to surpass. In particular, this view of her city, of her Velaris, the sun setting in golden hues and pink undertones as it dipped low over the Sidra… this view would always be her favorite. Often, she would come up to the balcony at the House of Wind just to have a moment of reflection, a subtle reminder of everything she had been through to get to this place.

On those evenings, Mor preferred to be alone as she leaned against the railing, her golden hair flowing evenly in the breeze. Sometimes Azriel would join her, his quiet, steady presence a crutch for her to lean on on her hard days. Those times, she would try not to lead her mind to thoughts of him. She would try... and she would fail.

And here, alone, without that pressure, she could think of little else. So she savored the solitude, breathed it into her lungs to wash away the pain. It was the first time she’d had to herself in a long while, and the first time she’d not been at Azriel’s or Cassian's bedside since the battle at Hybern only three days before.

But a few minutes later, when she heard her cousin step up to the doorway, she allowed him to join her. Rhysand approached quietly and rested his muscular forearms on the railing beside her, his eyes following the decent of the sun on the horizon.

The cousins stood there together for a few moments, looking upon their city in comfortable silence, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the sky. The last rays of sunlight glinted off of the buildings below, and the mountain-tops beyond reflected pinks and oranges and golden shades in their snowy caps. Mor sighed deeply, resting her head on a hand, and Rhys chuckled lightly, breaking the silence.

“You’ve been alive for over five hundred years,” he said, his lips upturning slightly. “And every time you come up here, you act like the sunset is the first you’ve ever seen.”

Mor lifted her head and punched him gently on the shoulder, still looking at the sky. “ _You’ve_ been alive for over five hundred years, and you still haven’t learned how not to be a _prick_ ,” she jested, unable to force away a smile at the words they’d spoken before when they were younger, when seventeen years had seemed like a long time to be alive.

Rhys laughed darkly. “You should know I gave up trying long ago,” he responded, turning his head to her. Mor looked at her cousin finally, smiling even as she rolled her eyes. He looked exhausted. They all were. Rhys was emotionally worn out, with Feyre at the Spring Court, Cassian in the painful process of having his wings healed, and Azriel just now awake after the poison arrow that had pierced his chest left him unconscious since Hybern. Mor swallowed hard at the truths she’d been forced to face that day, looking down at her hands.

Sometimes she still didn’t understand her power, her truth, and now was one of those times. She knew how to wield it in battle and she knew how to read its cues, but sometimes the nature of the power eluded her. She couldn’t lie outright, not without great difficulty and consequence, but she could certainly lie to herself. Somehow, something deep inside her had been lying to her for five centuries.

Because when that arrow had hit its mark in Azriel’s chest, Mor had felt it. She had felt its full force as if it had gone into her body, and she had screamed with the pain of it. Every instinct of hers had roared at the sight of him injured. And when Hybern had sent a wave of power at him, it was enough for her to forget her training and attempt to kill the king in a blind rage. It was a rage so deep, so primal and protective, that it had taken another shock of pain through Azriel to snap her out of it.

And when Az had lifted his head from the pool of blood around him… when he had been unable to lift it even minutes before...

_Don’t you touch her._

The truth had truly clicked then. Something had snapped, deep, deep inside of her. There was no avoiding it. Not even if both of them continued to deny, deny, deny for five hundred more years.

She knew it had existed long before she had felt it; that much she couldn’t lie to herself about. It had always been there, but dully, like an innate part of her she’d yet to discover.

Mor knew Azriel could feel it too. In that moment, she'd realized he had probably felt it snap a long time ago. She didn’t know exactly how long, but she suspected that he had known since he had found her that day over five hundred years ago, discarded and dying in the Autumn Court. For the last few days, Mor had agonized and berated herself over the details of the rescue, remembering the panic and rage blazing in his eyes, the breaking of his voice, the deadly focus in tending to her injuries. She’d always wondered how he had even managed to find her in such a vast forest in so little time. Thinking back, it made sense that he had known.

But he’d never mentioned it, and whether it was because he thought he wasn’t worthy of her, or because he didn’t want to push her, or because he didn’t want it… It should have been clear through her pestering of Rhys to tell Feyre for all of those months that she’d want the same honesty. Even if she hadn’t felt it click yet.

Only now that the roles had reversed, and she had seen _him_ near death, did the bond lock into place.

_Mate._

When she had felt it snap, the string between them pulled taught, it was like the weight of her own internal lie had been forcing her down for five hundred years, and only then was she finally able to get up.

Mor knew she loved him. She’d known that for a while now. But some instinct so fundamental to her very being had hidden the whole truth from her, and she didn’t know just how it was possible.

Maybe it took almost losing him to truly find him. The Mother had a cruel sense of humor.

She shook her head gently. “Do you remember,” she said, tearing herself from her thoughts and glancing back to the sky as the sun nearly disappeared, “that Starfall before everything happened?"

“Barely,” Rhys smirked, a twinkle in his eye.

Mor sighed, rolling her eyes again. “Rhys,” she chided, and he lifted his arms off the balcony when she swiped at them. They both laughed, and it was exactly the bit of normalcy that Mor needed after the past few weeks.

“I told you,” she continued, “to bring a girl up here that night. But you said you would only bring someone special up here to see Starfall. Only your mate,” she finished, watching his violet eyes brighten. “And you did. You brought Feyre up here on Starfall, didn’t you?"

“I’m a male of my word,” Rhys mused, absent-mindedly running his hand over the railing as he looked out at the sky.

She smiled at her cousin. Despite Feyre not being here, she could perceive a difference in his mood even when he simply thought about her. The lines of stress on his face disappeared, and his eyes had a sparkle that had never been there before. There was no doubt that there was love flowing between them on the bond right now as they looked at the same night sky.

Mor’s heart warmed for Rhys, but something in her felt empty. It was different from the emptiness she normally felt, though, the one she had felt for five hundred years despite her cheerfulness on the surface. Now there was a constant ache, a pain, an unacknowledged stress deep inside her.

 _Mate, mate, mate._ The word pounded in her head to the steady beating of her heart.

Shoving away the feeling, she took in the stars beginning to shine all around them, the night sky now in full view, and it eased some of her heartache. Velaris, the City of Starlight, the City of Dreams, was hers, and she thought maybe nothing in the world could match the feeling of love she had for this place, these people, her court. Nothing, except...

_Mate._

“Here we are, Rhys,” she breathed, and he looked at her, though her gaze remained on the sky. “You promised me, back then, that we’d make this court a better place. But I never would have believed it if you had said we'd create all of this. Our Court of Dreams,” Mor sighed, resting her head on the balcony. She laughed softly. “Or that you’d actually bring your mate up here for Starfall. That she’d be the one dream you’d been missing. All of your dreams from back then came true."

Her cousin smiled, and sighed, as if settling into a role. As if he was about to address his court.

“Maybe my dreams have come true, Mor,” Rhys responded, his tone serious, and Mor closed her eyes at the brotherly tone. "But you were always the bigger dreamer. I found you up here that day gazing out at the setting sun and all you could think of was how you wished you could be free to live and love in this world. You’ve lived, Mor,” he put a hand on her forearm, "but you’ve sold yourself short on your greatest dream."

Mor was suddenly cold. “And what dream is that, Rhys?” she asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer. Behind the blackness of her eyelids, she saw glowing cobalt blue, comforting shadows, and the darkness of wings in the night.

“I think you know."

When Mor opened her eyes, they immediately filled with tears, and one slid out unwillingly to travel down her sun-kissed cheek. She looked at her cousin, his eyes filled with knowing concern, and she wiped at her eyes before speaking. “You know?"

“I’ve known for five hundred years, Mor. It was hard not to know. It just wasn’t my place to get involved, to make you change your mind."

She sniffed gently, turning to face him. “Then why are you getting involved now?” she demanded.

Rhys half-smiled. “Because I saw the way you looked at Azriel in Hybern. It was the same way I looked at Feyre on that balcony Under the Mountain, when I knew.” Rhys put a hand on Mor’s shoulder as she wiped her eyes again, massaging his thumb over the sheer sleeve of her dress. “It’s different now, now that I know how that feels. You deserve happiness, too, Mor."

“Do I, Rhys?” she asked weakly, covering her face with her hand. “He’s been flying circles around my indecision for five centuries. I’ve made him feel like he’s not worthy of me, when really,” she sniffed again, an attempt at composure. “I’m not worthy of him. I’m too late."

“Mor, stop,” Rhys shook her shoulder gently, and Mor looked up at him. His eyes were soft, but his face was hard, serious. “You are mates.” It was the first time anyone had said it aloud, and she didn’t attempt to contradict him. “Fate put you together for a reason. But regardless of that bond, I’ve never seen anyone or anything unnerve Azriel quite like you do. You’re the only one he really trusts, Mor. I think he’s avoiding the bond because it scares him to trust someone like he trusts you. To love someone like he loves you. It’s the only thing that scares him.” Rhys blinked, and the corner of his mouth turned upward. “I know you feel the same."

The realization fell over her like spirits on Starfall. When she was younger, before everything had happened, the seer had told her about her power of truth, and that lying would cost her. She realized now that he had been right - lying to herself had cost her five hundred years of happiness.

She blinked tears away slowly. "I’ve loved him for five hundred years,” Mor whispered, letting herself verbalize it for the first time. She never felt the need to - her love for Azriel was as much a part of her as her own identity. “And I never said anything.” She didn’t deserve him now if she had let him stand in her shadow for centuries, waiting for her to achieve her independence, waiting for her to finally feel the mating bond, waiting for her to love him. He needn’t have waited for the last.

“And he’s done the same,” Rhys urged. “I don’t think the past matters. I think the only thing that matters to Azriel is you, and the only thing that matters to you is Az."

Mor nodded, the tears that had spilled from her feeling like a cleansing of her soul. Rhys was right. It wouldn’t hurt to try. She knew from the past, at least, that in time a ruined friendship could mend, but this bond would forever ache without acknowledging it.

“Who knew two months ago you’d be the one hounding _me_ about my mate?” she managed to laugh lightly, and Rhys ran a hand through his hair as he chuckled.

He jerked his chin to the door, grinning. “Go chase your dream, Mor."

Mor leaned forward to kiss her cousin on the cheek. “Thank you, Rhys,” she said, and she walked into the House of Wind with determination in her heart.

She knew the way to his room like it was a map to her own heart. Despite never having acknowledged what lay between them, she’d spent many a night there, waiting for him to return from his missions and staying when he did. They’d often talk late into the evening and into the early hours of the morning, venting through the pressures of their work and helping each other chase away the nightmares. It was something they shared, just the two of them, an open valley of communication where neither would judge the other for the tough decisions they’d made. It was the closest they would allow each other to get, toeing a very fine line between friendship and something more, something needed, something greater. But in those moments with him, she felt safe.

So why did this feel like the most treacherous moment of her life?

She took a deep breath as she rounded the corner to his wing of the House of Wind, chills running up her arms when she saw that his door was open. For visitors. For her.

Mor slowed her steps, looking at her feet, but she continued to march forward. If she stopped now, she would never make it to his door. She’d turn around and five hundred more years would pass. But this war and many more might not give her that much time. She would not allow herself to wait another moment, not when the bond pulsed with anticipation and need and love with every step she took.

She stopped in front of the doorway and lifted her head.

He hadn’t moved much since she’d last been there to check on him a few hours before, but he was awake now, shadows dancing gracefully around his body. He was reading in his bed, one of his many blankets thrown haphazardly over his lightweight tunic so that his bandages were covered beneath it. He was nearly healed and probably fine to go on with his duties, but Mor had strictly forbidden him from leaving that room until the wound was completely sealed. He hadn’t argued with her - he never did. He’d give her the world if only she asked, even if it killed him.

Azriel looked up, a strand of his dark hair falling into his face. His shadows dissipated when his hazel eyes met Mor’s and he smiled, one reserved only for her. Her heart lurched.

“Morrigan,” he regarded her, closing his book and setting it on his nightstand.

She smiled as she stepped forward and into his room, shutting the door behind her. Could he sense how nervous she was? Could he hear her heart pounding? Could he feel it over the bond, or could they only feel each other’s pain through it, as broken and neglected as it must be?

“I was hoping I’d come back before you woke up,” Mor said evenly, sitting in the chair beside his bed that she had been occupying for the past three days. “How are you feeling?"

“Fine,” Azriel said, though the small grimace on his face as he shifted toward her said otherwise. “Ready to go back to work, if I’m allowed.” He looked at her pointedly, eyebrows raised.

Mor rolled her eyes, then gave him a pointed look of her own. “You don’t have to listen to me, you know. If your healers say you can go to work, go to work. I just know you’re lying when you say you feel fine."

Azriel chuckled. “Truth-teller, indeed."

Mor nudged his arm lightly with her knee, biting her lip in an effort not smile at the mention of the blade he’d named for her. But a chuckle escaped, and a smile bloomed on her face. Like it always did, around him.

Her smiled faded, however, as comfortable silence enveloped the room. She looked down at her feet at the realization that - here it was - an opening. An opportunity for her to tell him how she felt, and yet, she still felt like it might ruin everything. If Azriel had made his own decision regarding the bond, if he didn’t want it, or if he had other reasons, she’d be opening up that wound. It would destroy their friendship.

And part of her was still wary about getting involved with Rhysand’s friends - even though they were hers now as much as his - and destroying their brotherhood as she once had long ago. There was even more at stake now - she could tear a rift in their court, the Court of Dreams, the only family she had.

And if they did get together, if they did accept the bond and find happiness… there was a war coming. She could be ripped from him, she could _die_ , and she couldn’t hurt him in that way. And if he died… Mor shuddered at the image of the arrow protruding from his back that infiltrated her mind.

“Mor?” Azriel interrupted her thoughts. She looked up, and saw the concern in his eyes, always watching, always making sure that no one would hurt her or bring her demons out into the light, always trying to be her savior. Just as she tried to be for him, when Cassian would almost blurt out harmful bits of his past, or when Rhys would pick up on a minor flaw on one of his missions. Only Mor knew how the smallest triggers would drag him deep, deep down, where no one could pull him out.

They complimented each other, they were the only ones who understood what it meant, what it felt like to be trapped in a nightmare with no hope of rescue. They were each other’s salvation.

 _Screw it._ Mor didn’t care about the baggage, the past, the consequences. Rhys was right - she only cared about Azriel. And as much as her brain tried to convince her otherwise, she knew in her heart that Az felt the same about her, if five hundred years of devotion was any indication. This was her _mate_ , and she’d be damned if she wasted another moment pining for him, waiting for him, not being with him. Azriel was worth it.

He was still regarding her with curiosity and concern when she finally spoke. “Do your shadows ever keep secrets from you, Az?"

Looking taken aback, Azriel raised an eyebrow. “Not that I know of. Why?"

Mor cleared her throat, but kept eye contact with him. The hazel of his eyes gave her strength. As terrified as she was of this moment, she could never be afraid of _him_.

“Sometimes,” she began, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair behind a pointed ear, “I think my power keeps the truth from me.” She paused, watching as Az’s eyes briefly shifted to where she played with hair. Mor dropped her hand. “I think it kept the truth from me for five hundred years."

Azriel stilled, eyes widening a bit, but kept his gaze on Mor. A few stray shadows appeared in wisps off of his strong, muscular body, and Mor knew he understood where this conversation was going.

“Az, when that arrow hit you, I-” She paused, sliding to the end of her chair toward him, needing to touch him, needing that reassurance and that comfort. Azriel didn’t protest when she intertwined her fingers with his, as he often let her after she’d had a nightmare, or when she needed something to ground her after a trip to the Hewn City. He never initiated that touch - not with his insecurities about his scars - even now, even hundreds of years after Mor had seen them and accepted them and loved them.

"I felt it. I screamed for you, but I also screamed because that pain, _your_ pain, I felt it too. I thought I was going to lose you, Az. You were bleeding so much, you weren’t healing, you couldn’t even keep your head up.” A tear ran down her cheek and Azriel moved toward her, sitting up and facing her. He reached over and wiped it away with his thumb. He was heartbreakingly gentle, a side of him he rarely showed, a gesture he would only indulge himself in when they were alone together, when there was no one he feared would mock him for being unworthy to touch the girl made of golden sunshine.

“I was so afraid that you were going to die, Az. Of all the dangerous missions you’ve been on, in all the wars you’ve fought in, I’d never seen you that close to death. And if you were going to die without me being able to tell you-“ She stopped, taking a deep breath that was more of a sob. His brows creased as she shook her head, shook away all of her doubts, shook away her indecision.

“Az, I know what we are. I knew it when the arrow hit you. And you were practically unconscious, but when Hybern threatened me, you fought. You fought for me. And it clicked."

Azriel wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking at their hands, his hands, the ones his own family hurt without regard or care for how it would affect him, the ones that convinced him he wasn’t worthy, he wasn’t anything. And he was _wrong_.

“We’re mates,” she declared with a steady voice. Azriel looked up then as she spoke, and his eyes were filled with something she’d rarely seen in them before… with fear. “We’re mates, Azriel, and I know you’ve known for a while."

There is was. It was said, it was done. Everything laid bare before them, and now there was only the aftermath.

They were silent for a moment, before Azriel let go of her hand.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he said, his voice small. “You’re… and I’m…” He looked down at his feet. “I’m not worthy of you, Mor. You don’t have to-"

“You,” Mor said emphatically, cutting him off, her small hands resting gently on his forearms, “are more than worthy."

Azriel shook his head gently, and Mor pressed on. “You are the one who saved me, Az. Not only that day in the Autumn Court, but every day since. You are the only one who knows what it feels like to be trapped in a nightmare with no light guiding you out. But Azriel, _you_ are the light that guided me out. And even when our backs were to the sun, even when we both let the hard days win… you understood. So believe me when I say that you are worth everything to me.” She gripped his forearms tighter, if only to make him listen, to make him understand. “I have loved you since the day you saved me, Az. Long before I understood the mating bond."

Azriel continued looking down, breathing heavily but remaining silent, and Mor stood from her chair and sat beside him on the bed. He tensed, but after a moment leaned into her touch, resigning himself to have this conversation that had been weighing down on them for five hundred years.

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice deep and quiet.

“Yes,” Mor replied gently, and he finally looked up at her. “But I should’ve told you how I’ve felt these past five centuries, too. So we’re even. Just tell me now.” She smiled lightly, and her heard flipped when Azriel’s hand found hers.

"I think I’ve known from the first day Rhys brought you into the camp,” he began, clearing his throat. “When your hand brushed mine. I felt something.” Azriel paused to look down at their joined hands, rubbing a thumb over hers. She put herself back in that moment, into the chaos of her mind and how she’d felt something pass between them at that first meeting. A calm. An understanding. A comfort. Mor couldn’t help the smile that broke over her face.

Azriel looked back at her when she let out a small, breathy laugh. “I remember that. I felt something, too."

The corner of his mouth upturned briefly, and he continued. “When you left the camp, I had a nightmare that your family…” He growled deep in his throat. “I saw them hurting you. When I woke up, I panicked, and went into the Autumn Court against Rhys’s wishes. I just… knew you were there. My shadows knew, something deeper inside me knew. And then I felt it snap the moment I saw the nail in your stomach. When I saw how close to death you were. It broke something in me, and I knew what it was as I was flying you back to the Night Court, as every instinct in me was screaming to save you, to make sure you lived. But I didn’t dare allow myself to accept it, not when you were hurt, you were dying…” Mor squeezed his hand gently at the look of rage and despair on his face.

“And when you woke up, and you told me that my voice, something connecting us, had brought you back from near death… I should have told you. But you were finally free, and I couldn’t make you have to decide to tether yourself to someone for eternity when you still had a whole world to discover. Especially someone like me, someone dark, when all you needed was the light. I couldn’t do that to you.” His entire body stiffened, as if reliving that difficult decision, and Mor felt the true weight of five hundred years crashing over her as he spoke.

"I wanted you to be free,” he whispered. "And to tell you after that, to tell you at some point over these last five hundred years... it didn’t feel right to bring up your horrors again, to break apart the independence you almost died for. It felt selfish, and I didn’t deserve to be selfish, to ruin that for you. And I- I didn’t know _how_ to tell you. And it was agonizing, it _is_ agonizing, loving you and not being able to articulate it, to _tell_ you. But how I feel doesn’t matter. You deserve more than this. More than me. You always have."

A tear slid down Mor’s face as she frowned. All she wanted was for this male, this valiant and caring Illyrian male, to understand his worth to her. She didn’t think that more words would make him see.

“I think I can choose for myself what I deserve, Az,” Mor said gently. She leaned forward, her free hand on his thigh, and pressed her forehead to his. After a moment of sharing breath, she closed the distance between them.

Kissing him, Azriel, her _mate_ , was unlike kissing anyone else. His lips were soft and when he responded to her kiss, wrapping his free hand behind her neck and slipping it slowly into her hair, she felt her heart begin to race. There was no uncertainty in the kiss, just the release of five hundred years of unrequited love finally acknowledged. It was gentle at first, caring, a disintegration of lingering doubt. They parted momentarily, lips still brushing against each other, breathing in each other’s scents.

Azriel almost immediately kissed her again, and Mor opened her mouth for him, moaning softly. Chills traveled up and down her spine as his tongue brushed past her lips and she finally tasted him. He tasted like chocolate and the cold night air, and she began to feel almost drunk on the essence of _him_. She broke the kiss to swing her legs over him and slide into his lap, and he released her hands to grab onto her waist.

“Azriel,” she breathed, pressing their foreheads together again and bringing her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look into her eyes as she spoke. “What’s past is past. I’m not wasting another minute ignoring this, ignoring us."

Azriel pulled back slightly, a battle behind his hazel eyes telling her he was still unsure, still afraid to force this on her. With a smile, Mor leaned over to reach the bedside table and a stash of chocolate she’d kept there for comfort over the past few days of sitting at his bedside.

She unwrapped one and placed it in the palm of her hand, making eye contact again. “You rescued me that day, did you not?"

He bit his bottom lip before responding softly, “Yes."

She smiled. “You saved my life, gave me the gift of a life where I could make my own choices. Azriel, _I’m choosing you_. And I will spend the rest of eternity showing you just how much you’re worth to me, if you’ll let me. If you’ll choose me, too."

The light in Azriel’s eyes changed, and all uncertainty vanished as Mor offered him a the chocolate. Not taking his eyes off of her, he took it out of her hand and placed the entire bite in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and she watched every movement of his jaw, the lines on his face softening as he wiped a tear from under her eye. “I’ll always choose you, Morrigan."

With a laugh she couldn’t contain, Mor threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again. This time it was passionate, making up for lost time, a battle of tongues and roaming hands and breathless gasps for air. Azriel’s hands traveled up her back and beneath her shirt, roaming higher and higher until her shirt was just uselessly in the way. She lifted her arms for him to pull it off and his hands made quick work of the lace undergarment underneath, tossing it to the floor.

His mouth moved to her neck, nipping and kissing sensitive skin as he slowly traveled down to her shoulder and his hands traveled up her waist. Mor gasped at the chills going through her body as his calloused hands found her breasts. She tilted her head back slightly, and Azriel’s mouth found hers again, biting her lower lip gently.

Mor didn’t waste time trying to figure out how to get his shirt off over the wings, and simply vanished it into midair with her magic. Azriel laughed deeply into her mouth and promptly began to pepper kisses along her jawline. She ran her hands up and down his muscular, tattooed chest, needing to touch him. He was going so _gods damned_ slow, teasing her mercilessly. Which made sense, she supposed, considering he’d waited for her for five hundred years. He had a sadistic amount of patience. She did not.

His mouth found her collarbone, sucking gently, marking her as his. She moaned, and adjusted her position in his lap, straddling him, causing him to groan his approval. She could feel the hard length of him pressed into her stomach, and she ground up against it, eliciting a hiss from Azriel. “Ah, ah,” he looked up at her momentarily, his eyes filled with lust. “None of that.” So quickly that it took the breath from her, Azriel spun Mor around and set her down on his bed, spreading his wings out above her. “I’ve waited this long… I’m taking my time with you."

Mor whimpered, which turned into a moan when Azriel’s mouth finally found her breast, nipping gently as his tongue swirled over her. She dug her hands into his soft, dark hair, heat building in her core as he worshipped her upper body. Mor began to writhe in anticipation beneath him as his mouth moved down, slowly, kissing a line just beneath her breasts. At her movement, Azriel’s hands found her hips and gently hold them in place, and then slowly eased her pants down so that she could kick them off.

He lingered still at her stomach, placing gentle kisses over her scars, and giving special attention to the one just below her belly button. Where the nail had been.

Mor leaned up slightly, taking one of his hands from her hip and bringing it up to her mouth, kissing his scars in turn. He smiled, a genuine, beautiful smile, and paused his roaming to place one gentle kiss at her lips. “I love you,” he said, “every inch of you, every scar, everything."

Before she could reply, his head moved back down, and he placed a gentle kiss on the spot just over her underwear. Her words were lost in a moan, which could have been _I love you_ , or could have been his name.

The anticipation seized her body, making her crave more, as Azriel kissed a torturously slow line down her inner thigh. Every spot that his lips found was a promise, a vow, a declaration of five hundred years worth of love in a single kiss. And, somehow, as if a part of him knew, his kisses were more gentle on all the places that Mor knew she had once had burns and cuts and wounds at the hands of her family.

Azriel moved to her other thigh, his hands roaming over her body as he kissed up, up, passing her center and nipping gently at her hip. She let out a groan of protest, grinding into the sheets, and thrust a hand roughly into his hair. “Azriel,” she pleaded.

He looked up at her and met her gaze, his pupils blown with lust, as he laughed darkly at her begging. “Yes?"

“Azriel, please touch me, I need it, _please_ -“ She broke off with a gasp as Azriel slipped a finger under her underwear pulled them down, discarding them the rest of the way as he pressed a kiss to her center. Mor gasped again as he lingered there, pressing kisses to every inch of her. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back, as he snarled his approval.

Finally, she felt his tongue, and she cried out, fisting one hand in the sheets and pulling at his hair with the other. And once Azriel let himself taste her, he did not hold back. He released himself completely, licking and sucking, teeth grazing over her, and she felt her pleasure building up, quickly, so quickly.

Mor was saying his name, over and over, a broken plea escaping her as he added a finger, easing it into her slowly. She whimpered, tugging on his hair to urge him on, and his laugh vibrating against her almost sent her over the edge. Azriel added a second finger, moving faster now, as his tongue found her bundle of nerves and sucked-

The pleasure hit her like a sharp gust of wind, sending her back arching off the bed and her eyes rolling back in her head. Azriel continued to lick her and hook his fingers in just the right spot as she rode her high, his name on her lips. This was a high unlike any she had ever felt, and she knew it would happen even before her magic unleashed itself around her. Darkness enclosed them so it was only the two of them, only her and Azriel in the whole world, illuminated by the starlight that began to shine from her skin.

As she came down, she found him looking at her, eyes scanning the entirety of her body as it twinkled and lit up the darkness.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Azriel said reverently, kissing her once at her center and once on the scar at her abdomen before removing his fingers. Mor sat up immediately, crashing her lips into his as he came up over her, tasting herself on him. Her hands grabbed insistently at the hard bulge in his pants, and she clawed at them until he sprung free. He groaned as she thrust his pants down the rest of the way until there was no clothing separating them.

Mor was done waiting and wanted to fuck him right then and there, but it was her turn to tease him now. Breaking their lips apart for a moment, she used her own considerable strength to sit him up so that she could crawl into his lap. Knees on either side of him, straddling him, she ground into his hard length again. Then, she reached behind him and, slowly, gently, scraped a nail over his wing.

Closing his eyes, he groaned, and a slow smirk crept over Mor’s face. “You have no idea,” she grit out, her voice unrecognizably breathless, “how long I’ve wanted to do that."

Another groan was his only reply as she took both hands and stroked him slowly, feeling every inch of that glorious wingspan. She moved her hands down the outer edges, over the sensitive membrane at the apex of his back, and back up again. He shuddered, his cock twitching against her, heating her core to a boiling point.

Having much less self-control than he did, she leaned in and kissed him again, and lowered herself onto him so that he filled her entirely.

They fit like a puzzle, like the answer to a question asked long ago, like two souls forging together into one. Mor rested her head on his shoulder, savoring the feel of him inside her, as he kissed a line from her neck to her ear.

Slowly, she began to move on him, her arms wrapping behind around Azriel’s neck and her hands digging once again into his hair. She increased her pace, riding him, and he bit her earlobe gently in response. Mor moaned loudly.

With a growl deep in his throat, Azriel rolled them over so he was on top of her, and began to match her movements. He was intoxicating, filling her so completely, his body pressed into hers and his lips at her neck. “Azriel,” she gasped, his eyes finding hers and locking there.

She felt it then, a glowing, living thing solidifying between them. Azriel rested his forehead against hers as he increased his pace, and Mor whispered, “I love you,” as they went over the edge together. The darkness and starlight surrounded them again, though none of Azriel’s shadows felt the need to come out.

They remained tangled in each other as they lay back against the pillows, spent and breathing heavily. Azriel brushed blonde hair out of Mor’s face with a gentle caress of his hand, and she kissed it before he could pull it away. He looked at her, scanning her face for any sign of distress, but she knew he would see only happiness and love there. He relaxed, the same emotions showing in his eyes as he kissed her gently.

Azriel smiled. “I’d say it was worth the wait,” he said, flicking her nose gently.

Mor burst into laughter, giddy giggling that consumed her entirely, and it only increased when Azriel began to laugh with her. She had never felt so happy, or seen Azriel so happy, and she snuggled her head into the crook of his neck to try to calm her overwhelming smile. “Yes, yes it was,” she mumbled against him, and he kissed the top of her head.

She fell asleep feeling safe and loved, but knowing that her dreams would be nothing compared to the feeling of finally, finally being with Azriel. Her mate. _Hers_. She could only hope that she would have five hundred years and more to spend in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work is named for the Seafret song of the same name (AKA my ultimate Moriel song, everyone go listen to it, I'm serious.)


End file.
